


I Own You

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Michael pays you a visit.





	I Own You

A flutter of heavy wings pauses your laundry folding, prompting you to sigh as you drape a pair of jeans over the back of your sofa.

“Cas, how did you even-”

“Try again,” a voice says, velvet-deep and enthrallingly melodic.

Shit.

“Michael,” you whisper, a wave of ice water crashing over you.

The archangel smiles small and tight at your recognition.

“H-how did you…”

“Oh, the angel wardings?” Michael asks, right hand waving at the unseen sigils hiding behind the sheer paint covering your walls. “They work very well. Unfortunately, I’m an ARCHangel.” He shrugs small. “Useless on me.”

“Why are you here?” you ask, eyes darting and voice cautious.

“Dean is…concerned. About you.”

You let out a quick huff. “I find it hard to believe that you’d care.”

Michael smiles again, tight-lipped. “Not in the way you’d think.”

He rounds the clothes-cluttered sofa as he peels the wool overcoat from broad shoulders, lays it neat over the rounded arm, and then takes off his cap to lay on top.

“When Dean gets anxious,” he says, arms long and lax at his sides. “I get all…twitchy.” He emphasizes the last word with an exaggerated flinch. “Makes it hard to focus.”

“Please,” you manage, soft. “Let me talk to him.”

Michaels sets his icy gaze on you and runs his stolen tongue along the inside of Dean’s cheek, scruff-peppered skin bulging over it.

“No.”

“Why?”

Michael sighs. “He isn’t available. I have him tucked away in a dream. He’s in Oregon. Hunting ghouls with Sam.”

“A dream,” you echo. “If he’s in a dream, he couldn’t possibly be bothering you…” Your words fade as fresh fear creeps up your spine. “Why are you really here?”

The archangel doesn’t speak for a long breath, looks down and brushes a fleck of stray lint from his waistcoat.

“Funny how a vessel can affect us…”

“Affect how?”

You’re not sure you want to know the answer.

“Their…emotions,” Michael explains. “Their thoughts. They…bleed into us. It’s so indescribably…frustrating.”

He takes two steps forward, polished dress shoes loud against the hardwood floor of your living room.

You’re reminded of Dean’s intimidating height as he looms closer - yet the entity residing inside him somehow makes him seem even taller.

You should run. Hell, anyone in their right mind  _would_  - but you can’t seem to move, your bare feet all but welded to the just-mopped floor.

“He misses you,” Michael says, runs his borrowed tongue along his new, plump bottom lip. “More than that. He… _hungers_ for you.”

You notice his eyes then, notice the emerald irises darken into a deep moss, notice how his eyelids lay heavy and hooded over them.

_Shit._

“You…you should go,” you whisper, your mind desperately searching for the last place you’d laid your cell.

The corner of his mouth tugs in a barely-there smile, just the tiniest glimpse of ivory teeth-

“And why should I? If you ask me, I’m right where I’m  _supposed_  to be.”

“What…what do you mean?”

Another step…

“You belong to him…he belongs to me now…” He tilt-twists his head, smiles at you in a way that makes everything prickle and freeze.

“I own you.”

Phone. You need your phone.

He raises his hand until you can feel the heat of familiar fingertips burn at your cheeks before finally making tingling contact, and your body wars between flinching away and leaning into his searing touch.

So you do neither. Simply stand before the celestial being wearing Dean Winchester; big-eyed and gaping.

He brings his thumb down to trail along your lower lip.

“Nnngh,” you barely manage. “No. This is…please. Go.” Your whisper is faint and shaky, but Michael hears it all the same.

“I don’t understand you humans…Always fighting against your true purpose, your calling.”

“My purpose? And what is my purpose?” You try to sound strong; defiant, but you’re rapidly jellying under his heady gaze.

“To serve me.”

And then his thumb dips down to your chin just before his mouth molds against yours with a warm pressure. Your hands raise to curve around his thick forearms as his lips knock your own open. Michael hums through the kiss, and the noise only adds to the delicious heat coursing through your veins.

You shouldn’t be enjoying this, shouldn’t be sighing into his open mouth the way you are, but he feels so much like Dean, tastes like him. And maybe, just for a moment, you can have him the way you used to.

He’s licking into your mouth now, tongue sliding hot over yours, and you know he has you. He’s won and you don’t even care.

So you let him walk you to the laundry-scattered sofa, let him ease you into the cushions with surprising care.

He slots himself between your parted knees, drops his weight against you, slacks-covered lump hard at your hip.

Your belly rolls and tightens with the gravity of the situation, but your body sings in anticipation.

Michael captures your hands in his, mashes them against the elevated arm behind you, and ducks down to mouth at the soft curve of your neck. It feels good, the way his lips suck at your flush, blunt teeth catching occasionally.

You twist your head a little, baring more of your neck for him. He breaths a hungry little sound, seals his new lips around your pulse point, and sucks  _hard_  - hard enough for a zing of electric pleasure to shoot straight to your core. You gasp, start to rock your hips against his, desperate and aching for friction.

The archangel breaks away at that, lifts his head to gaze down at you; swollen lips parted, eyelids heavy.

He presses his tongue against his teeth as he drinks you in, then swiftly releases your hands to scoot down so he can work your cotton shorts and panties down your hips and legs.

You freeze - suddenly bare, and you start to squirm away-

Only for his heavy hands to clamp onto your thighs, jerking you back down so he can settle between your knees, wide shoulders keeping you spread open-

Is he? Oh god. Is he going to-

Michael’s eyes flick to yours, and he smiles dark just before licking a hot, wide stripe up your center. Your hips twitch at the contact, and you get up on your elbows, suddenly hit with a strong need to  _watch_ him.

He does it again, this time with a groan that you can feel in your  _bones._

Your head falls back on your neck as he laps at you in much the same way Dean used to, and you dimly wonder if Michael is using Dean’s memories to pleasure you.

He’s laving over your clit now, each wet flick sending electric heat bursting under your skin.

When you get your head upright again, you aren’t expecting him to be  _looking_ at you; green eyes unblinking. You whimper, then suck your lip in between your teeth to stifle any more sound, but you can feel the pressure of the next moan weigh heavy in your chest.

You release your lip when you feel a finger swirl at the slick gathered at your entrance-

And then you’re groaning  _loud_ when he pushes inside. You’re buttery enough that he quickly works in a second finger, starts to pump them before you even have a chance to relax into it.

Michael’s tongue still swipes over your swollen nub in time with his plunging fingers, and you’re tightening up with every passing second.

This is bad - you  _can’t_ come for him-

And then, as if he’s read your thoughts, he’s upping the pace, the sofa rocking underneath you with the force of his working arm.

Your brain is quickly fogging over, your defiance rapidly dissolving into carnal lust with your swiftly approaching climax.

Fuck. He’s  _twisting_  his fingers in a corkscrewing motion on every thrust, the tips of them brushing at that raw, sensitive patch hidden so deep inside-

Michael sucks your clit into his mouth between suctioned lips, and you can only manage a weak squeal as you fall back; your eyes clamping shut, legs locking.

Bright light dots the black curtain behind your eyelids as you pulse around his still-jerking fingers. You whimper for him to stop now,  _it’s too much_  - and he does to your very genuine surprise.

When you finally peel your eyes open, he’s hovering back over you, lips and cheeks glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm. His arm is wedged between you and the back of the sofa, braced so his free hand can work his pants open.

You can only lie underneath him; breathless and boneless as he frees himself, lets his thick cock drop hot and heavy against your thigh. He shifts over you, one hand denting into the cushion beyond your shoulder while the other fists the broad base of his length.

Panicked, you suck in a sharp breath at the first warm press, mouth gaping as you wait for the push-

But then he  _snaps_ his hips forward, and you can’t even scream as he starts to thrust; deep, fluid strokes that curl your toes, that make your nerves  _hum_ with overwhelming pleasure.

Michael’s lips are curled in a sneer as he fucks into you - and you  _know_  he’s shuffling through the archives of Dean’s memories as he spears into you so  _perfectly._

He drops himself lower, arms braced somewhere over your head, breath hot and bursting at your neck. You get your hands on his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him because there’s just nowhere else to go.

There’s a strength behind his driving hips that was never present with Dean, that reminds you just how powerful the archangel really is, how he could literally fuck you  _apart_  if the desire happens to strike him.

His rhythm never falters as he pounds into you, just a fierce  _in-and-out-in-and-out._

“This,” Michael whispers into your ear, “this is your purpose: compliant and  _beneath_  me.”

In any other scenario, you’d scoff, you’d roll your eyes. Tell him to eat shit if you were feeling particularly brave.

But you can’t even manage a coherent syllable with the way he’s bottoming out repeatedly, heavy balls slapping against your ass on every thrust.

Your fingers scrunch the white polyester of his dress shirt as you feel the pleasure crest-

And then everything goes icy-hot as you spasm around him, his cock still pumping into your convulsing walls.

You’re fisting his shirt now, knuckles aching from their locked position. He’s quiet when he comes, just breathes a wordless sound into your ear as he twitches inside you, and fills you with liquid heat. You wince at the almost burning sensation, think he must run hotter than mortal humans.

He pulls out almost immediately. And you catch his softening length in the lamplight as it bobs come-slick between his muscled thighs.

You struggle to raise up in search for your missing shorts, but Michael beats you to it, tosses them to you as he stands to redress.

The wet mess between your thighs turns your stomach at the thought of Dean, at what he’ll think when he finds out…

“Is Dean…is he still?”

“Does it matter?” The archangel’s smirk is cruel, and it matches his feral gaze.

“Please. This will destroy him.”

“Oh,” Michael says, slipping back into his overcoat. “You’re right about that…but I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s served his purpose.” He flips the newsboy cap in his hands, fits it snug over his head, and smiles.

“And you’re serving yours.”


End file.
